Marble Made Man
by ariadneslostthread
Summary: Written for a prompt challenge: The day before an important rally, Enjolras falls ill. His friends force him to stay home from the rally, and as they don't want him left alone, they leave Grantaire as his caretaker.


Written as part of prompt challenge along with chainsaw_poet, MeMeMe and Re_Repeat, and prompted by my lovely fandom spouse, KChann88.

This is the first chapter of three of my result.

It is also, loosely following Little Boy Marble.

**Chapter 1 : There It Is**

And there it is. The first sneeze. Only one, for now, but Combeferre has been expecting that sneeze like the full stop to a sentence.

Paris has frozen. Overnight it seemed the cool but mild days, a last vestige of the rapidly departing autumn, gave way to bitterly cold and biting winter winds.

It is only a matter of days into the cold snap that he hears it; the tell-tale edge to Enjolras' voice, the tinge of pink to his cheeks, nose and eyes which never quite fades away enough to be attributed to the cold air out of doors.

As ever, Enjolras is valiant, and carries on regardless, clearing his throat and pushing away the headache which no doubt plagues him.

He is good at it, Combeferre will give him that, and he believes for a while that it is only he who notices these subtle and carefully hidden signs. But he finds he should give their friends more credit, as he sees the concerned glances thrown towards Enjolras as he sniffs into the back of his wrist for the third time in as many minutes. The glances eventually turn to include him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as if questioning him, 'well, aren't you going to do anything?' the glances ask.

But Combeferre does nothing, he knows how the game works as well as they do and it is one of waiting now. So he watches and waits, his unending patience stilling his hand when he itches and aches to go to his friend and swaddle him in every blanket they own as he shifts in his seat to hide another shiver, though he is sitting quite close to the blazing fire in the Musain. He cannot force this issue; it is not how they work, but he begins to prepare, full in the knowledge of what is to come.

As Enjolras' shivers turn so violent and visible they trigger a chill in Combeferre's own bones, and the sneezes start to come in twos and threes a seed of doubt begins to grow in his belly. He wonders whether he will have to step in; Joly brings it up under his breath as they sit, watching Enjolras speak on their latest plans, listening to the edge in his voice become a true hoarseness no amount of discreet coughs in his fist can shake away.

Joly is concerned, Courfeyrac's eyes glisten with worry and his usual humorous heckles are mild and forced, the others continue their dance of glances between Enjolras and Combeferre, and now Joly. Combeferre presses Joly's hand in reassurance. Tonight then.

The meeting dissolves, and he and Enjolras part ways to carry out various errands of the day and Combeferre wonders how best to breach their unspoken agreement.

As it turns out, he doesn't need to.

He's arrived home first, settled now on the sofa with that day's paper spread over his lap. He looks up briefly when he hears the door and sees Enjolras sighing with relief to be home and out of the invasive Parisian cold air, leaning back against the door to push it closed. It is when he speaks that Combeferre realises he shouldn't have doubted his friend. Give him time, and he will come to him.

"Combeferre?" He says, hoarse and sounding so unlike himself.

"Enjolras?" Combeferre says, looking up from the paper with a frown, "What's the matter?"

Enjolras shakes his head, ducking it for a moment so Combeferre can't see his face. When he looks up it is with sad, shy, almost apologetic smile.

"I'm really not feeling quite myself."

"Oh." Combeferre says, mouth dropping to mimic the sound with his lips; his voice sounds even hoarser that it had earlier. "Come here."

He folds the paper and puts it down, reaching up for Enjolras' hand and tugging him down to sit beside him on the sofa.

Gently sweeping loose tendrils of hair back from Enjolras' face, paler than it ought to be Combeferre can clearly see now, he presses the inside of his wrist against Enjolras' forehead. And sure enough, there it is, the heat he knew he'd feel there.

"Rather warm, I'm afraid." He murmurs, returning the apologetic smile.

Enjolras nods, a blush colouring his cheeks, exaggerating the slight flush there.

"Off to bed with you, please. I'll fetch you some tea." Combeferre says, getting to his feet and patting Enjolras' knee.

"You don't need to do that."

Combeferre merely turns to look over the rims of his glasses at Enjolras, still sitting on the sofa, another blush rapidly flooding across his skin.

"Thank you." He murmurs quietly, grateful and touched as ever by Combeferre's willingness to drop everything to look after him, simply because he's feeling a little under the weather.

Combeferre smiles, heart swelling with affection for his friend, so often stoic and strong and unbreakable, so grateful of the simple comforts Combeferre desperately wants to bestow on him.

"Go on." He says kindly. "To bed."

Enjolras nods and gets up, shivering slightly as he crosses the room. Combeferre watches him for a moment, letting himself in through his bedroom door, fondness and concern mingling in his chest, before turning to seek out hot water for tea.

Enjolras has done as bid once he returns, changed and sitting up in bed, handkerchief clutched in one hand, a book in the other. It's adorable and worrying in one muddled package; he usually has to chide and cajole at least a little before Enjolras will allow himself to be put to bed and coddled, but today, he has gone willingly, almost eagerly and Combeferre hopes it's not an indication of the severity of this cold to come.

He chuckles though, pushing away the anxiety for now, and lifting the book from Enjolras' hand, and closing it with a snap. Enjolras' soft noise of protest assuages his concern slightly, so he takes a seat on the bed handing Enjolras one of the two cups he carries.

Enjolras takes a sip, savouring it, eyes closing and hands wrapping around the cup for it's warmth.

"Feeling chilled?" Combeferre asks.

"A bit." Enjolras replies, shivering still. Combeferre gets up to fetch another blanket and drape it around Enjolras' shoulders.

Enjolras gives him an appreciative look as he leans forward and lets Combeferre tuck the thick blanket around him.

Combeferre lightly touches the backs of his fingers against Enjolras forehead again, as he still shivers despite the blanket and the healthy fire burning in the grate.

Combeferre himself wears only his waistcoat and shirt and is comfortable in the warm room, but feels the heat radiating from Enjolras none the less through his touch.

He purses his lips and looks into Enjolras' eyes, scrutinising him.

"That's the start of a fever alright."

"I thought as much." Enjolras says with a thin smile and sad sigh.

Combeferre covers his free hand with his own. "Just a cold, I'm sure. It is that time of year after all."

Enjolras nods, "It's turned bitterly cold. I have felt...under the weather, since it turned." He smiles briefly at his own pun. "I had hoped it was nothing, but, alas..."

"You always do. I have suspected for a few days, I'll admit." Enjolras blushes deeply and ducks his head.

"I'm sorry, I had thought I'd been discreet."

"You are strange, my friend, to even think you need to be discreet." Combeferre replies with a soft laugh. "But you have come to me now, and I'll see you well in no time."

Enjolras doesn't reply but gives Combeferre a sincere and heartfelt smile of thanks, before a violent shiver travels up his spine and he can't help make a soft sound of displeasure.

Combeferre presses the hand he still covers with his own in sympathy. "Drink your tea, it'll help."

Enjolras takes a long drink from the cup, and it does help, heat coursing through him as he swallows, but it does not warm him quite so much, nor quite so deeply as Combeferre's palm pressed against his own hand.

"Thank you for looking after me."

"Thank you for finally letting me."

Enjolras blushes slightly, fiddling with his cup. "I'm sure I'll feel better by the rally tomorrow."

"We'll see."

"I will. It's an important. .."

"I know how important tomorrow is, but your health comes first."

Enjolras shakes his head, "The revolution waits for..."

"I'm stopping you right there." Combeferre says. "Whatever you like to think, your health does come before the cause. The revolution can and will wait for you. We shall see about your attendance tomorrow."

Enjolras looks mutinous and opens his mouth to object but is silenced by Combeferre's finger against his lips.

"Hush. You'd better rest your voice if you've any chance of being able to speak at the rally tomorrow. I don't like the sound of you at all."

Enjolras sighs and capitulates with a nod, looking miserable and disheartened. Combeferre takes his other hand, speaking softly. "I'm not saying no absolutely. I'm saying we'll see in the morning."

Enjolras nods again, somewhat mollified and now religiously heeding Combeferre's advice to rest his voice.

"Now you rest up and I'll read to you until you fall asleep, hmm?"

Instead of another nod Enjolras cups Combeferre's jaw in one hand so he looks down at him, his lips clearly forming the words 'Thank you.'

"You're entirely welcome. Now. .. let's see what _Le_ _Moniteur_ has to say for itself..."

Enjolras smiles and shifts further down in bed, settling himself to listen to Combeferre read, and provide commentary on the most recent edition of _Le_ _Moniteur_. It is peaceful and companionable, and even though he's feeling rather ill, Enjolras would rather be nowhere else.

"…'The people of Paris, meanwhile, listen and laugh, and the sad and serious endeavour to enlist their passions on the side of the Peers passes harmless and unheeded. "An owl," says the fable, "which for a long time'…"

"_HeptsCHOoo!_"

"Bless you," Combeferre deviates seamlessly from his prose, with a quick glance at Enjolras before resuming. "…'had been the terror of a village, in whose lonely steeple he had taken up his abode, and whence he was wont every night to send forth his shrill notes, grew at length so vain of his powers, that nothing'…"

"_eh..eh…ehTSchshhew_. Apologies."

Combeferre smiles and ducks his head, negating the apology as he hands Enjolras a handkerchief. "Bless you again… 'would serve him but he would try them by day-light. Accordingly, one fine morning, when all the villagers were making holyclay, he perched himself on the highest branch of his ivy dwelling, and began to scream with all his'…""

"_Hh…Hyyyyxcsh! _Excuse be."

This continues for some time before Combeferre sighs and stops again, folds the paper, sets it down on the bed and removes his glasses. "I think that's enough of that for this evening."

"Doh…doh, condtindue, blease…" Enjolras mumbles from beneath a handkerchief.

Combeferre smiles and shakes his head. "No, no. Still feeling cold?" he asks, as another shiver visibly runs through Enjolras.

He nods, still tending to his nose.

"I think I ought to give you a dose of Dover's Powder," Combeferre says thoughtfully. "Warm you up, see if we can't chase this cold away before it takes hold." He says, eyeing Enjolras' pale face and increasingly red nose. "Though I feel it is perhaps too late for that." He adds, running a finger tenderly along a flushed cheek.

"I detest Dover's Powder." Enjolras grumbles, under his breath, as Combeferre leaves to fetch his medicine bag and an assortment of supplies.

"It'll make you feel better. It is worth a try." Combeferre replies, returning to the room and bending over the fire to stoke it into a small inferno. "Come on, up you get…"

Fifteen minutes later finds Enjolras sitting on the edge of his bed, a heap of blankets around his shoulders and his feet in a basin of hot water up to his ankles. Sweat beads at his hairline and along the bridge of his nose now, and the shivering has abated only to be replaced by frequent yawns.

"Feeling warmer?"

"Yes," Enjolras replies, chuckling softly and passing his wrist under his nose. "But it's baking by dose rud."

Combeferre echoes his laugh and passes him another handkerchief, turning away as he blows his nose.

"That should do it then…here…" He sets a towel over his lap and seizes one of Enjolras' feet, drying it, and then it's fellow, vigorously.

Enjolras blushes, and squirms as it tickles but doesn't pull away.

"Thank you." He whispers, watching Combeferre as he's bundled back into bed properly and blankets piled on top of him. "I'm certainly warm enough now, thank you, Combeferre." He says, laughing hoarsely again, amused.

"Can't be too careful." Combeferre says, adding a final blanket and turning to mix a powder into water in a glass. "Drink up."

Enjolras pulls a face, eyeing the medicine, but downs it at the severe look Combeferre levels at him, mouth twisting at the taste.

"Time for sleep, I think." Combeferre announces as Enjolras yawns again. He nods in agreement shifting down in the bed and turning on his side. "Have you got handkerchiefs under your pillow?"

Enjolras nods sleepily, eyes already falling shut.

Combeferre indulges himself and reaches over to gently brush Enjolras' hair back from him face, receiving a small smile in return.

"Sleep well, I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

It is abjectly clear Enjolras does not feel better in the morning…


End file.
